


always reblog

by defractum (nyargles)



Series: Tumblr Fic & Prompt Fills [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fans & Fandom, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-15 21:40:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3463001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyargles/pseuds/defractum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is a fic writer, Grantaire is a fanartist. Fandom BNFs AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Grantaire is definitely not stalking Enjolras.

He’s only forty pages through his tumblr, that doesn’t count as stalking. And if there’s a tab of posts tagged with ‘my life’, well, they’re tagged and public, right?

It’s weird discovering that a  _BNF_  is from Paris. There’s a bit of an assumption, on the internet, or at least the english-speaking parts of it, that everyone’s from America, especially the Big Name Fans. It makes Grantaire wonder if he’s walked past him on the street, or sat next to him in a coffee shop as he wrote porn. Enjolras writes great porn.

Grantaire is kind of new to tumblr. He mostly uses it to post fanart of fics, except they keep getting reblogged and liked by people and the notifications completely clog up his page so he’d downloaded a thing that got rid of them.

Except, he’d noticed that Enjolras had posted a link to his tumblr at the bottom of his latest fic, and now… he’s followed him and is forty pages in. Enjolras posts fic recs and meta rambles and great headcanons. There’s the occasionally wanky posts that he’s been dragged into, some interesting but vague snippets about his life, and yesterday?

Yesterday, he’d reblogged one of Grantaire’s pieces and it had even been tagged with a satisfying amount of keysmash. Grantaire is getting a screencap of that framed on his wall. Enjolras thought his art was ‘afdslkajg;lagasdf!!’ Grantaire is going to die happy.

A notification pops up on the other tab, the one open to his dash, and Grantaire clicks on it. Text post by Enjolras. ’you all know I have a stat counter right? who is 40 pages in on my blog and going through my ‘my life’ tag?’

Oh god. That’s him. Grantaire hunches down a bit before remembering that Enjolras cannot physically see him. He hovers, wondering whether to reply. Might as well. ‘Whoops, that’s me. I’m not a creeper, promise. I just saw you were from Paris. Moi aussi! :D’ Grantaire squints at it for a while. Deletes the emote. Adds it back. Takes out all the punctuation and decides it makes him look  _too_  illiterate. Adds them back and takes out all the capital letters instead. Freaks out and hits reply.

Approximately twenty seconds later, Grantaire gets a message that just goes ‘YOU’RE THE ONE WHO DREW THE MUTANT ART, I can’t believe you’re from Paris too! If it makes you feel better, I scrolled through all twelve of your posts, so maybe I’m the creeper here.’

Another three seconds, and he gets ‘I’m really not a creeper, sorry, that sounded much better in my head.’

Grantaire bites his lip, and replies with ‘Page 47, motherfucker. (Do you mind if I draw some art based on the first night in prison scene?)’

Enjolras is fine with that, or so Grantaire presumes that’s what the keysmashing is, and he finds himself replying to Enjolras’s messages for the rest of the evening, and sketching. By the time he wants to go to bed, he’s got lineart done and he sends Enjolras a sneak peek. Enjolras posts on tumblr, ‘PUT-ON-GRAND-AIRS IS MAKING ME ART’, tagged with ‘gloating but only a little’. Grantaire can’t stop grinning.

The last message that comes through just as Grantaire is logging off is ‘We have a monthly IRL Paris meet-up, a whole group of us. We go to a café and talk about the latest episode and other fandom things. You should come?’

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Grantaire has walked around the square seven times, and old people sitting in the sunshine are starting to give him dirty looks.

His phone is in his hand, which is kind of sweating profusely, and it’s open to a text from Enjolras (a  _text_  because he has Enjolras’s  _real life phone number_ and they’ve been texting and flirting and at some point it could have practically been considered sexting) where they’re going to be.

After his eighth circuit of the square, Grantiare is now ten minutes late which means he shouldn’t be walking into an empty cafe. He slows as he reaches the door. He relaxes, makes one last attempt at batting his hair back into shape. Saunters in and pauses until he sees Enjolras, recognisable from the rare occasional selfie, and sidles over to their table. Or rather, tables, because there’s almost a dozen of them.

“Hey,” he says shyly. “I’m put-on-grand-airs.”

“Oh my god,” says a guy with bright eyes and a mouth too wide for his face. “I’m writerlytails. Enjolras.  _Enjolras!_ ” He turns and elbows Enjolras in the ribs repeatedly, mouth agape with delight.

“Oh, you’re the one who writes all the catfic!” says Grantaire, grinning.

“ _All_ the catfic,” says writerlytails solemnly. “ _En_ jolras! You fucking lucked out!”

“Yes, alright, I can see it’s him, Courf,” says Enjolras, rubbing his side and grumbling. For some reason Grantaire can’t tell, he’s flushed a bright red.

They make space for Grantaire next to Enjolras. “Hey,” says Grantaire hopefully.

“Hey,” says Enjolras back, smiling at him so widely that he takes a moment to bite his lip, and Grantaire’s stomach does somersaults that have nothing to do with nervousness. “Enjolras, though I’m sure you knew. Nice to – Nice to finally put a face to the messages.” He looks like he wants to say more, but his eyes dart around to the group of people all staring expectantly at them. “Uh, let me introduce everyone?”

They go around the table, Enjolras introducing everyone by their preferred names, and it’s a mix of tumblr urls and AO3 names and real names. He recognises most of them. “Am I in some sort of secret BNF group?” asks Grantaire, half jokingly but also half in completely serious horror. “I am not worthy.”

“Everyone is worthy!” says larksings, and she pinches him on the arm as if they’ve been friends for years. “And coming from one of the hottest artists in fandom right now, that’s silly.”

“What,” says Grantaire. “I am  _not—_ ”

“You really are,” says mothmatics. “You must have seen the response to that prison sex piece you did for Enjolras.” In the corner, writerlytails whistles, and fans himself.

Grantaire remembers seeing it come across his own dash a couple of times with suitably flattering remarks (Enjolras had tagged it with a small capslocked paragraph on how much he had liked it, and that was all Grantaire had needed, really) but… “Notifications really annoy me, so I disabled them,” he explains sheepishly. He doesn’t explain that he doesn’t really like looking at his art after he’s put it out there.

“Hottest artist right now,” says larksings firmly, as if that’s that.

writerlytails grins. “Emphasis on ‘hottest’, right, Enjolras?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“Shut up, Courf,” says Enjolras, throwing a bread roll at him.

Grantaire falls into conversation with them as if he’s known them for a lifetime, and it feels… it feels like coming home. It’s nice talking fandom with people, it’s nice not having to bother with English, it’s nice knowing that everyone gets the dirty in-jokes and when he mentions a particular fic or piece of art, people will chime in with ooohs and ahhhs or groans.

They move around as conversations break into groups, people shifting to talk about something in particular, or to grab food, and so on. Grantaire stays put and has a sandwich, letting the conversation flow around them, and wait until writerlytails is sitting next to him to ask quietly, “What did you mean, when you said to Enjolras, ‘you lucked out’?”

writerlytails snorts. “You know, your tumblr has a serious lack of information about you to creep on?”

“Huh?”

“No selfies, no personal posts, no preferred pronouns… Enjolras has been going crazy trying to figure out what you look like. Not that it matters to him what you look like, but, you know. Bonus.”

“I told him what I looked like,” protests Grantaire.

“You told him you had awful brown hair and were kind of average height and you were going to be wearing a green t-shirt and jeans,” says writerlytails. “You didn’t tell him you were  _hot_.”

“Oh,” says Grantaire. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are.”

“And does…Enjolras…”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t even finish—”

writerlytails puts a hand over Grantaire’s. “Yes. He does. Don’t make me repeat it again.”

“Oh. Cool. I mean, because I—”

“I know. He shows me all his texts. Mostly whilst flailing and asking me what he should say.”

Grantaire laughs awkwardly. “Oh god.”

“Courf, stop scaring him away,” says Enjolras, suddenly appearing behind them. “He’s been drawing me nice art, you can’t scare him away. I have to keep him so he can draw me more porn.”

It’s Grantaire’s turn to blush, and writerlytails winks at him before scampering away. “You have to keep me, huh?”

“Yes,” says Enjolras, sliding into the seat and pressing their thighs together from hip to knee. “For the porn, you understand.”

“Totally,” says Grantaire, not even bothering to hide the fact that he’s grinning like a fool.

“Totally.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

Enjolras and Grantare are like the new fandom Brangelina.

Enjolras still writes crazy popular fic, and posts headcanons and meta, and hosts discussions that take up posts upon posts on Grantaire’s dash some days, and sometimes he writes fic just for Grantaire. That feels good.

Grantaire still doesn’t post anything at all apart from fanart. But these days, there’s a pretty good chance that whatever he posts is art for Enjolras’s fic. It’s nice knowing that he’s got Enjolras’s headcanons down pat, and he doesn’t have to worry about their reception.

In return, Enjolras has started adding Grantaire in on his dedications and random RL posts. He’s always mentioned going to class with writerlytails or studying together with mothmatics and sometimes even talking with pontmerci (Courfeyrac, Combeferre and Marius, Grantaire now knows), but now Grantaire’s in there too.

Random posts come up tagged with things like ‘this reminds me of the boy, yes that boy’ and Enjolras talks about fuzzy feelings when skyping with Grantaire, typing the post up  _as he’s talking to Grantaire_  and adds in sentences like ‘now grand-airs is laughing at me *pouts*’ and Grantaire feels like he just??? cannot?? It’s got to the point where he’s started thinking in punctuation marks, for a lack of words. This is why he’s not a writer.

Grantaire gets asks now. It’s a new feeling, but sometimes people send in suggestions of things they want to see or just compliments him on his art, so yeah. Things are going well on the fandom front. Until - it doesn’t. It’s just an ask, sent anonymously so Grantaire can’t reply to it privately like he normally would.

'do you ever do art for anyone other than enjolras? like, there are so many other good authors out there who would love just one piece of art ever but you'll do two or three for every one of his fic.'

Grantaire baulks. It’s not… It’s not a nasty ask but it gets under his skin. He thinks about it the whole day of classes and straight through his evening shift until he’s meant to meet Enjolras for a late dinner. He’s been looking forward to this date for ages, because, well,  _date_. It’s their fourth, and Enjolras has been texting since five pm, moaning about how hungry he is and how Grantaire ought to be glad he’s so wonderful Enjolras is willing to delay food for him. It puts him on edge.

He shows it to Enjolras when Enjolras finds him poking through his food even though Grantaire is usually starving by the time he gets off work. “Oh,” says Enjolras, and his face does something funny, something Grantaire doesn’t know him well enough to interpret yet. “Well. It’s not as bad as what they say about you on the wankmeme?”

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [tumblr](http://defractum.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
